


One Night in Kitty Riley's Flat

by hogwartswitch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, First Time, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Kissing, M/M, One Shot, Orgasm, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 09:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hogwartswitch/pseuds/hogwartswitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one knows how long Sherlock and John were waiting in the dark in Kitty Riley's flat. Nor what they might have gotten up to while they were alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night in Kitty Riley's Flat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> This short ficlet is a gift for the lovely [MrsDeGoey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsDeGoey/pseuds/MrsDeGoey), who drew the lovely cover for my fic, [Through Dangers Untold](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3392225), as well as for the encouragement and support she gives me every day. One could not ask for a better friend!
> 
> I was inspired to write this by the shot of Sherlock and John in Kitty Riley's flat, just as she turns on the light. My mind always delights to wonder what those boys might have been up to in the dark for who knows how long! Hope you all enjoy what my imagination came up with!

"Sherlock, wait...!"

"Stop wriggling your hands, I'll never get this open!"

"What exactly are we doing?"

"Kitty Riley has answers that we need."

"Yeah, but have you thought about, I don't know, waiting until she's home? This is breaking and entering!"

"Please, John. This is the least of our crimes this evening. Do you think one more is going to matter?"

"Fair point. But could you not twist my wrist that way? It hurts."

"Just one more second and.... ah!"

The door to Kitty Riley's flat swung open and Sherlock slipped inside, pulling John with him by their handcuffed wrists. The metal of the cuffs bit sharply and Sherlock slowed, reminding himself that John was most likely feeling the same pain.

"There's got to be a light switch around here somewhere...." John muttered, fumbling his free hand along the wall.

"No," whispered Sherlock. "Let's leave the lights off... use the element of surprise against her."

John laughed. "Okay, but where exactly are we going to wait? I can't see a thing!"

Sherlock ran his uncuffed hand along the wall, then lower, feeling about in the darkness until his fingers collided with something solid and fabric-covered. "There's some sort of seating here... I think... yes... it's a loveseat."

John yelped as Sherlock slid onto the loveseat, yanking his wrist sharply. He rushed to take a seat beside Sherlock, their legs a hair's breadth from touching. John hissed softly through his teeth as he ran his fingers around the abrasions from the cuff on his wrist.

"Sorry." Sherlock sounded genuinely remorseful. "Didn't mean to do that."

"I don't suppose you could pick the lock on these things?"

"No... not in this dark, at least.

"Figured not."

"Let me see?" Sherlock hesitantly took John's hand in his free hand and lifted it closer to his face. John could feel his soft breath across his skin, causing the golden hairs on his arm to stand up with goose pimples.

John closed his eyes and leaned his head back, willing the confusing feelings below the surface. Now was not the time to discuss the issue of what he had felt about his flatmate for a while.

Sherlock's slim fingers ran across the angry red skin under John's cuff, causing John's breath to catch in his throat.

"Nothing a little ointment won't help once we're out of here." Sherlock said ruefully. "But I _am_ sorry."

"S'okay." John croaked. His trousers felt marginally tighter and he tried to tug his hand out of Sherlock's, but Sherlock kept a firm hold, still examining the scrape, though it was surely too dark for his eyes to see anything.

Warm lips met John's palm as Sherlock placed a gentle kiss in the center of it. John's eyes went wide and he flexed his fingers.

"Sherlock...did you just...?"

Another kiss, this time at the tip of his index finger. Sherlock's lips traveled to each finger, giving them the same treatment. John knew he should pull back, put a stop to this behavior, but here in the dark it seemed like part of one of the dreams that woke him up most mornings, his heart pounding, a wet, sticky spot at his crotch.

A deep, rumbling hum escaped Sherlock's throat. "I have thought about putting my mouth on you since the day we met, John." He whispered. "Claiming you, marking you my own with my lips."

John huffed out a breath that ended in a small whimper. "Sherlock... I...."

"Shhh. Please, let me just enjoy this. Let me pretend you want it." Sherlock placed his mouth around one of John's fingers, sucking it in, swirling his tongue at the tip.

His trousers were _definitely_ getting tighter now and John's free hand twitched, desperate to be buried in Sherlock's hair. In his dreams he was always pulling and tugging at those dark curls until Sherlock was on his knees, begging for mercy. _But he doesn't beg._

Sherlock's mouth moved to each finger, sucking hard, nipping playfully with his teeth.

"Bloody hell," John groaned. "At least let me join in."

Awkwardly, John turned around, crawling over Sherlock's body until he straddled the detective's hips, his erection pressing against the black Belstaff coat that John often imagined Sherlock wearing with nothing on underneath. To his quiet delight, he discovered an identical bulge at Sherlock's crotch by brushing his thigh against it. Sherlock's back stiffened and he grunted, catching John's waist with his free hand and steadying him. John waited for a moment, and then sunk down, his thighs resting on Sherlock's upper legs. Threading his fingers in those black curls, he tugged playfully, trying to find Sherlock's lips. He missed at first, planting a kiss on his partner's sharp cheekbones. A ragged laugh escaped his throat and he re-centered himself, pressing his lips to Sherlock's mouth.

Though Sherlock could, at first sight, seem cold and hard, there was nothing cold _or_ hard about his lips. Soft, pliant, they met John in an answering kiss, their tongues tangling together. John nibbled at Sherlock's lower lip, ran his tongue over Sherlock's teeth. He wanted to explore every depth and crevice of Sherlock's mouth, taste him, consume him.

Sherlock's hand at John's waist tightened, fingers biting into the flesh as John's sweater rode up and exposed an expanse of skin. The hand at his waist roamed lower, gathering the flesh of John's buttocks and squeezing lightly. John answered by pressing even deeper into the kiss, his hand hopelessly tangled in Sherlock's hair.

He pulled the hand cuffed to Sherlock's hand towards the bulge straining at Sherlock's trousers. The cuffs bit into his tender flesh and he pulled his mouth away from Sherlock's, a string of spit still connecting them. "We're going to have to work together.... again." He panted. He could almost make out glittering eyes looking into his.

Sherlock realised what John wanted and moved his hand in tandem with John's. Scooting back to give himself some space to work, John drew down the zip of Sherlock's trousers and both of their hands worked to free the straining cock from its confines. Sherlock moaned when John's fingers touched his shaft, his own fingers twitching at John's wrist.

"That's right." John breathed. "Let's do this together."

He wrapped his hands around Sherlock's cock and Sherlock wrapped his hand on top of John's. Stroking slowly, agonisingly slowly, John moved his lips to Sherlock's jawline, then to his neck. Sucking, biting, he moved his mouth in time to the slow strokes. Sherlock's breaths were coming out in small, wheezing gasps of pleasure. He wriggled his hips, trying to thrust faster into their shared strokes, but John's thighs pinned him down.

"God, John!" Sherlock gasped as John continued the slow, steady stroking, his mouth questing around the collar of Sherlock's shirt.

"Frustrated?" John growled low. "Irritated? Imagine how I feel, living with you, looking at you every day and not being able to do anything about it."

Sherlock whimpered, his free hand catching John's arm and kneading the muscle underneath his clothes. "If I'd known....!"

John slowed his stroking, coming to a stop, which caused Sherlock to whine in frustration. He let his work-roughened thumb brush over the head of Sherlock's cock, trace the vein that ran along the underside. Sherlock's own hand followed John's, a ghost brushing against the back of his hand.

"You didn't deduce that this is what I've always wanted?" John whispered, pressing his cloth-covered erection against Sherlock's abdomen. He circled his fingers at the base of Sherlock's cock briefly, and then reached deeper to cup the balls, massaging them gently.

"Unngh!" Sherlock's words left him as he pressed back into the loveseat, overcome with the desire coursing through his veins.

John's hand returned to stroking the straining cock, rubbing the drops of pre-cum down the shaft and picking up speed as Sherlock's body twisted beneath him. He smiled against Sherlock's collar bone, enjoying the small grunts and gasps escaping his partner's mouth. Stroking even faster, he returned his mouth to Sherlock's, kissing him desperately and sucking at Sherlock's tongue.

"Will you come for me, Sherlock?" He whispered against the corner of Sherlock's mouth.

Beyond words, John felt Sherlock's head nod quickly up and down. Pressing closer, he covered Sherlock's mouth with his own and stroked harder, feeling the cock jump in his hands and start to spew hot streams of liquid. He swallowed Sherlock's cries with his own mouth, drinking the throes of the orgasm down like a man dying of thirst.

As the waves of Sherlock's climax passed, the detective relaxed into the loveseat, his bones turned to liquid. John rested his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder, catching his breath. His erection strained uncomfortably hot against his trousers. Sherlock brushed shaking fingers against the fabric.

"Please...." Sherlock wheedled. "Let me give as good as I get."

John was adjusting his body to allow easier access for Sherlock when they both heard the sound of a key at the door, the scratching of it fitting into the lock.

"Shit!" John growled, scrambling off Sherlock's lap and returning to his own place on the loveseat. Sherlock, cursing, hurried to tuck himself back in and zip up his trousers.

The light clicked on and John turned his head to meet the shocked face of Kitty Riley. Sherlock stared steadfastly ahead, his dark curls disheveled, his lips pink from the kisses they had exchanged in the dark. Sherlock's legs were crossed and the fingers of both their free hands drum in tandem on opposite arms of the loveseat. John, swallowing audibly, willed his erection to shrink. 

"Too late to go on record?" Sherlock asked.


End file.
